Moving On
by John Faina
Summary: This is sort of an alternate, far less dramatic version of the episode that everyone detests. It's also a little tribute to the ending of a show that used to be really incredible. Ode to bittersweetness. All hail House/Wilson!


**Title: The Triangle**

**Author: John Faina**

**Ratings/Warnings: Rated M for a bit of a sexual situation.**

**Pairings/Characters: House/Wilson, Cuddy**

**Disclaimer: House M.D., you are no longer divine, and **_**oh**_**, how I wish you were mine.**

**Genre: Friendship/Romance/Hurt/Comfort**

**.**

**Author's Note: This was written so long ago, it's almost ridiculous that I'm posting it. But I figure, hey - what the heck.**

**.**

There was so much tension, anger, hurt, and - he hated to recognize it - utter loathing in the handsome face of Doctor James Wilson, that House actually flinched as the younger man whipped around.

"Get the _hell_ out of here!" he bellowed.

Staring intently at the floor, House pretended he was paralyzed - and that included his eardrums. In front of him, Lisa Cuddy had whipped around as well, and now looked as though someone had thrown a brick at her face, mirroring his emotions exactly.

"Wha - "

"You heard me! Get. The. Hell. _Out_. Now." The pure venom in his voice left no room for arguments. With one slightly frustrated and frightened look at his clenched fists, Cuddy turned and swept from the apartment. House didn't blink. Didn't move. Wilson rounded on him as soon as the door closed.

"Why do you do things like that to yourself?" he demanded harshly.

House was silent, his ears ringing. His cheek stinging...

"_Why_? Why do you let - "

"She - " he stopped. So did Wilson. He swallowed. "She's never done that before..."

Cursing, Wilson strode over to the front door, locking it, then palmed his face in frustration. "I was going to stay out of it, I was going to just go back to my room - but she says horrible things to you, House. _Horrible_ things that don't have the least bit of truth."

House stood there, unsure of what to say. Unsure of being _able_ to say anything.

"I _never_ expected her to hit you. Surely, you've been with her long enough to be able to detect - "

House shook his head jerkily, and a dam broke inside him. Cuddy, yelling for weeks and weeks, months upon months; he thought of her kicking him out of her home, his immediately heading to Wilson's, her following half an hour later, resuming the yelling as she burst through the door. A few grudging tears slipped down his cheeks. His girlfriend, Lisa Cuddy, the woman he'd pursued for years, had actually hit him. Hard. In the face. He thought he'd made the right choice this time...Why did he always screw everything up? He thought he'd been getting _better_, damn it! He sank onto Wilson's couch - or, tried to, but his friend stepped forward and gripped his elbows before he got the chance. Out of surprise, House met his brown-eyed gaze, blinked, and looked away, unmoving once more.

"This is not your fault," Wilson said firmly.

House said nothing still, secretly appreciating that he had someone who knew him so well.

"Do _not_ let this set you back a step. You thought Cuddy was a logical choice; _I_ thought Cuddy was a logical choice. We can work through this."

But House couldn't put a stop to the tears that now flowed freely down his face. He was too weak and stunned to move out of Wilson's tight grip - as if he was trying to physically hold House together - and his chin dropped down to his chest in an attempt to hide the obvious.

"Cuddy was wrong," the oncologist said, choosing to ignore this. "She's _wrong_ about you. You're an ass. Sure. But she was wrong to accuse you of using her for sex only, for not giving a damn about the relationship, calling you a selfish bastard just because you don't cave to every tiny thing that pops into her head - the stupid things - "

House was half-listening, half-agreeing, while simultaneously thinking that Cuddy had been his last hope for happiness. Where could he possibly go from here? He blinked and a tear fell onto Wilson's shoe.

"Hey," the younger man interrupted himself to speak softly. House refused to look up, ashamed of his moment of weakness, of letting his guard down so suddenly. "I know how this is going to affect you...I'll be here. Okay?"

He gave the tiniest of nods, appreciating his best friend completely. At least not _every _person he gave a damn about was abandoning him, or thinking that he was not worth the time.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Wilson let go. "If that's what Cuddy thinks of you, you're better off without her."

Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, House finally managed to raise his head, taking in the fact that Wilson had not yet stepped back. "What do you think?" he asked quietly, gruffly.

"I think she's the selfish one," Wilson replied at once.

"No, I mean - what do you see...? That Cuddy - "

"Oh," he sighed, understanding. He blinked a few times in thought. "You're - loyal to the people you care about," he began, shooting him one of those crinkled smiles House had always secretly liked. "You care about people in general, no matter how you act toward them. You're funny, you're brilliant - and so are your eyes - "

"Are you naming what _you_ see, or what you think Cuddy should see?" House interrupted irritably.

"Alright, sorry - your hair is just so appealing, all rumpled, and you have a body like - "

"Okay," House grumbled, rolling his brilliant blue eyes.

"Yeah, and your voice is like a sharp dagger that could pierce any woman's heart, and - "

"Wilson. Shut up."

"What the hell do you think I see? You're my best friend. I'm sure there's a legitimate reason or two for that; you can't start doubting yourself even more than usual because of one woman who apparently doesn't have enough sense to appreciate you."

House inhaled deeply, and let it out. "I love her. You _know_ that...you're the one who kept throwing me at her."

Wilson nodded contemplatively. "Forget about her," he then advised gently. "Forget what I've said before. It wasn't a healthy relationship, and you'll do better away from the judgements and criticism."

"I don't...I don't know what to do," House admitted, a feeling of hopelessness washing over him, nearly suffocating him. As he had learned to do through his sessions with Nolan, he was beginning to crave help from another human being. He wanted _comfort_ from another human being, and, standing right there in front of him, happened to be the human being to whom he was the most attached.

"We'll figure it out," Wilson assured him. "I think, it's all gonna turn out okay."

House looked at him, certain that his pathetic helplessness was radiating out to him in droves, and knew that a person like Wilson would not be able to help himself - and, for the first time, he was genuinely relieved to receive a friendly, warm hug. A protective sort of hug that told House how much Wilson truly cared about him. Almost immediately, he broke down again, unable to help himself. Wilson tightened his grip, their chests pressed closely together; to House, it was just the comfort he thought he needed.

"I'm sorry," Wilson whispered. "It's not fair..."

House merely buried his face into Wilson's neck, sniffing. Wilson let him do this - probably was _happy_ to let him - he let him blubber on until he couldn't anymore, at which time, House placed a gentle kiss of thanks on his shoulder. Maybe...

Wilson might as well have stopped breathing.

House continued, not thinking, not worrying, but...remembering, and made it all the way up the side of his neck, to his temple. A soft pulse throbbed underneath his lips.

"You might want to reconsider this," the oncologist cautioned in a low voice. "You're extremely vulnerable right now..."

"I know," House said, kissing the temple again. "It doesn't have to mean something - "

"God, House," Wilson breathed. "Of course it means something. It's _always_ meant something. You know how it goes - "

"You're right, I do know...just...please."

Wilson sighed deeply and slowly, never letting go of him once, thinking it over.

"Okay."

House breathed in relief. "Okay..."

::::::

Wilson was everything at that moment.

He was all House could see or hear or taste or touch or smell or think about. The way he looked with his brown eyes closed, writhing underneath him, the way he sounded, groaning softly, the way his skin tasted a little salty, the way his hair slid easily through his fingertips, the way he smelled like a mixture of his cologne, shampoo, and sweat, and the way House seemed to be addicted to all of it. For the life of him, he could not figure out why they'd always chosen other people to give them this. It was so much better this way.

He thought this every time. But this time was different.

::::::

Two hours later, the both of them lay there, side by side, their shoulders sticking. Wilson appeared to be dozing, but House was wide awake, thinking about how he was going to say what he needed to say. He turned his head, smiling slightly at the younger man's peaceful face and soft breathing. Wilson belonged there. Just right there, next to him like that. He had always been there. Or, at least, admitted he was wrong for _not_ being there. He always would be. Literally, no matter what. They were literally able to do anything and still remain the best of friends. But there was obviously something else - something more - between them.

House felt most comfortable with Wilson; he felt the strongest emotions involving him; he had the best...physical relations with him, and he had no idea why they continued to pretend that their powerful and unusual relationship was strictly platonic. It had become so clear so suddenly. Cuddy was never it. He'd _known_ that Cuddy was not really it. She was simply all he could get - the closest he could get to true happiness. So he thought...

Maybe it had been Wilson's reaction to Cuddy's verbal and physical abuse that had thrown everything up in the air. It had shown him that there really was someone who cared a great deal about him and his well-being. Someone who was ready to fight for him, who thought the world of him, even if they did argue occasionally. Even if they were both wrong sometimes, and even if they _both_ hurt the people they loved.

Wilson slowly opened his eyes as House reached over to stroke the side of his face; they were soft and sleepy.

"We haven't done this in eleven years," House greeted lazily.

Wilson's eyes closed again in a small smile. "Ten. I didn't realize how much I - "

"Missed it?" House finished suggestively, his thumb moving in circles over smooth skin. "Neither did I." He cleared his throat, his stomach clenching. "Do you think this can be...something. I know it _is_ something, but I...Can it last a little longer?"

Wilson furrowed his eyebrows. "Longer...What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

"Let's take a break from women, and just - let it be you and me." His voice shook from nerves. The room was quiet as Wilson appeared to think this over. After nearly two minutes, House had to interrupt.

"If that's not what you want, i-it's alright. I thought - with you and Sam, and Cuddy and me - "

"Yeah, we need a break," Wilson quickly agreed. "But you don't understand...how _easily_ I get attached."

House slowly blinked.

"Once in a while is incredible - it's like a treat - but what happens when you get too many treats? You start to...expect them. You become addicted to them."

"You're saying too much of me is a bad thing."

Wilson placed a hand over House's, pressing it flat to his cheek. "No," he promised. "No. I'm saying I'll get too used to being with you, and when you find someone - it'll hurt. That's why this doesn't happen more often."

House almost broke down yet again, but composed himself for the sake of this conversation. It was too important. "Why do I have to find someone," he asked thickly, "when I've already found someone, idiot?"

Wilson blinked in nonchalance, and then it seemed to register with him what House had just implied. "You've found - ? Who did - Are you - You're talking about me?" he sputtered, his eyes no longer soft and sleeply, but sharp and alert. "House - no. You can't do that, you shouldn't say that to me - "

The older man silenced him by pressing their foreheads together, forcing eye contact. "I don't know why we bother with women...We're so much happier...like _this_."

"You know you're only saying this because of what happened with Cuddy," Wilson practically whimpered. That was how pitiful he sounded, and how sad, yet hopeful his eyes were. House couldn't stand it; Wilson _knew_ he couldn't stand it - that was his way of getting the absolute truth out of him. Always had been. One doe-eyed look from James Wilson was all it took to make him walk off the edge of a sky-scraper.

House took a chance, and kissed the lips that had formed almost a straight line.

"I love you."

Wilson didn't hesitate to kiss him back, and then sighed. "I know you do, House. But we've always been huge chickens. I want you to wait a couple of days, or - at least until morning to see if your feelings change. Because they will."

"They won't," House said firmly, feeling warm all over. "Yes, we've been chickens, but we don't have to stay that way." He grimaced and placed Wilson's hand on his cheek. "Feel that? You make me hot."

Wilson chuckled, and actually snuggled up to him, tucking his head into his bare shoulder. "We certainly affect each other, don't we?" he breathed. "No denying the chemistry..."

"Those forest nymphs taught you a lot," House grinned into his soft hair.

"Are we ever going to be able to forget that?"

"You can if you want. I, on the other hand - "

"I'm giving you a chance," Wilson interrupted. "If you're serious about this - "

"I have to forget the porno?"

"No. Listen. Let me make sure I'm getting this right - You want a relationship with me?"

"We already have a relationship."

"Right, but you want to forget about women, and sleep with me. Only me."

"It's not all about sex, Wilson," House scolded teasingly.

Wilson grinned, and House had a feeling he was about to regret saying that. "So you want the _emotional_ aspects, even though we pretty much have that down. That must mean that you want more. You want to sleep with me, have it be tender and beautiful, and you want to wake up by my side, you want to be there for me through good times and bad, you want to ask me how my day was, you want to put your life on the line to save mine - "

"Woah," House cut him off before things got truly crazy. "Tell me how you plan on reciprocating all that, Juliet."

"Honestly, I see those things as your own reciprocations," Wilson shot back.

House snorted. He supposed Wilson had him there. Not that he would ever admit it aloud. Instead, he burrowed down further into the blankets, making certain that their eyes were level with each other, and kissed Wilson's nose. Wilson pulled a face, but he could not hide his pleased, yet slightly embarrassed grin.

"So what d'you say?" he asked quietly. "I need you. Be my Valentine. I promise to love you forever and ever and ever and ev - "

"Oh," Wilson interrupted, rolling his eyes, "shut up." But that grin still dawned his expression, and House knew he was going to win this battle. Perhaps had already won. The thought propelled him to place a hand on Wilson's bare shoulder, gently pushing him onto his back. He followed, his mouth already at his neck, mouthing at the hot skin, kissing, and nipping. Wilson made a little humming noise and tilted his head back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Mm," House responded, slipping one hand into his slightly damp hair. "I knew you couldn't say no. I knew you loved me too much." He sounded plenty more suave than he actually felt. This was Wilson, and the pure miracle of the situation was causing his insides to quiver and twist oddly - almost as if he needed to throw up, but in a much more pleasurable sort of way. If that made any sense at all. He really wasn't interested in describing the feeling; he simply wanted to experience it for once.

"House," Wilson sighed in the still quiet of the room. He didn't seem to know what to say after that, but his tone said it all for him.

::::::

Cuddy, who had discovered the key Wilson kept inside a potted plant outside the door of the apartment, had come back to sincerely and tearfully apologize to House. She had never felt so awful about herself - she could only hope that House would find it somewhere in his cold heart to forgive her. She'd really screwed up. She knew that. It was _her_ fault this time, there was no denying it.

But she now stood near Wilson's bedroom door, her eyes puffy and red for an entirely different reason. She stood rigid with shock. She could not have moved if she tried. Words drifted out to her through the very small crack between the door and its frame.

"_That's why this doesn't happen more often._" came Wilson's voice.

Then came House's voice, and emotions threatened to overwhelm Cuddy when she heard it: "_Why do I have to find someone," _he asked thickly_, "when I've already found someone, idiot?_"

Wilson began to splutter and Cuddy couldn't blame him - she felt like doing quite a bit of spluttering herself. There was a brief moment of silence.

"_I don't know why we bother with women...We're so much happier...like_ this."

"_You know you're only saying this because of what happened with Cuddy_."

Wilson had positively whimpered the statement. Cuddy almost sank to the ground, leaning against the wall for support. Tears blinded her, but they wouldn't fall. And then she heard the unmistakable sound of lips quickly pecking another set of lips, and -

"_I love you_."

And that was it. It was out there - what Cuddy had suspected all along. What she had chosen to push to the back of her mind when she'd gone to House's after the crane disaster. What she had _hoped_ was only her imagination. House had been in love with Wilson since Day One. And it sounded as if this was not the first time they had slept together. Wilson was clearly head over heels himself - and Cuddy felt like banging her head against the wall repeatedly. This was still her fault. She should never have let anything happen between House and her in the first place. She should have _known better_.

As she continued to listen in on their private pillow-talk, she had to keep on reminding herself of these facts. This was _not_ House's fault. _She_ had unknowingly driven him right into Wilson's arms tonight. _Her fault, her fault, her fault_.

She supposed it was now official; House was not going to forgive her. No going back. This was the way things were going to be. The way they were always going to turn out to be.

There was no point in barging into Wilson's room now. It wouldn't change anything. In fact, it would only serve to anger the two men inside - the two men about whom she cared a great deal, after everything the three of them had been through. Wilson had always been the only person House loved deeply, unconditionally, blindly - in her heart, she had known this. She had no right to confront them about it now. Argue a pointless arguement. Ruin such a special moment for these two people she loved. House and Wilson deserved this happiness, this beautiful moment of truth and emotions and change.

So, straightening up, Cuddy swept away the wet tracks on her cheeks that had not yet dried, and began to make her way back the way she came, never looking back at the half-cracked bedroom door. But there was no way to block out the sound of one of the most passionate noises she had ever heard in all her life. It echoed quietly throughout the apartment, and inside her own head for years to come:

"_House_."


End file.
